When Farmers Go to Market

Paul Carpenter climbs into a white flatbed truck with 185,000 miles on the odometer and a cracked windshield. “This is a tough way to make a living,” he says, as he heads off into the misty Oxnard dawn.

It’s Tuesday morning, and he’s on his way to Santa Paula, 12 miles away, where he will supervise the picking, planting and care of vegetables that will be sold at the Santa Monica farmers market the next day.

Carpenter and his wife, Maryann, are among the best-known growers at Southern California farmers markets. Their Coastal Organics stand is a favorite of both chefs and discerning shoppers at the Santa Monica and Hollywood markets.

In many ways they are the small farmer’s ideal: Their family sells top-quality organic produce direct to the public. Such a life has its rewards--fresh air and freedom from bosses--but also a host of vexations. There are the usual farmers’ complaints about expensive land, erratic harvests, seasonal transitions and disastrous freezes. But there are also some that are peculiar to farmers markets, not the least of which is dealing directly with demanding customers for hours at a time.

May is particularly tricky for the Carpenters, who struggle through several weeks of lower production, worrying that if customers can’t find what they want, they’ll go elsewhere. What keeps most shoppers coming back is the freshness of produce out of the field less than a day--rare even at the best markets and natural foods stores. California has roughly 400 certified farmers markets, staffed by several thousand growers, from million-dollar farming corporations to mom-and-pop operations harvesting backyard fruit. Here are two days in the life of one farmers market operation, special in some ways, but emblematic of all.

Tuesday, 6:30 a.m.

Pulling into a driveway at the J.K. Thille Ranch near Santa Paula, a big lemon and avocado producer where the Carpenters lease land, Paul points to a field of young tomato plants.

“The avocado trees in this block had root rot, so the owner leased it to me,” he says. “I hired a specialist to get out the stumps, but you see there are still big hunks of roots and rocks.” He put in irrigation pipes, too--a bit of a gamble, since his lease is a handshake with the owner. Such a deal is not unusual for a small grower in Southern California, where land is expensive and farmers may need to be mobile.

After growing up in a family of lettuce and cantaloupe shippers in Arizona, Paul spent two decades as a harvest crew boss and salesman for commercial produce houses. By 1990 he tired of the grind and yearned to work his own farm, but had no land and little money, so he subleased 20 acres in Camarillo and started raising vegetables Three times since, suburban development or high rents forced him to pull up stakes and replant in new locations. Last summer he came here, where he leases 13 acres.

Tuesday, 7 a.m.

Paul goes over Maryann’s list of vegetables she wants to sell at the next day’s market and gives harvesting instructions to the five-man crew in a mix of Spanish and English: “We need 125 bunches of orange carrots, 50 rojos, 100 amarillos, 50 gold beets...”

While they pick, he uses a tractor to “shank” a lettuce field, chopping up organic material and loosening the soil to make it easier to work. “I love being outside,” he says. “After all these years, poking a hole in the ground and watching things germinate still amazes me.”

David Pommer, Thille’s ranch manager, stops by to trade a box of avocados for some vegetables. He says leasing land to the Carpenters works well for him: He had taken out several blocks of avocado and lemon trees that were sick or old, and it’s unwise to replant immediately with the same trees, he says. This arrangement brings in some rent and enriches the soil.

This earth is fertile brown loam washed down from the mountains. Nine miles from the ocean, the location is at the eastern edge of the coastal climate zone; it gets warm but not too hot, thanks to moderating afternoon breezes that make it possible to grow year-round.

There’s a definite rhythm to the harvest: A few crops, such as artichokes and favas, are spring specialties, but in general May is the cusp between winter crops such as Brussels sprouts, cabbage, carrots, beets and spinach, and summer crops such as tomatoes, cucumbers and French beans. This morning, the workers will pick the farm’s first summer squash of the season, round, pale green Ronde de Nice, a type of zucchini.

Next to the asparagus patch Paul points out flats of 275 tiny seedlings of lettuce ready for transplanting: “You have to time the lettuce just right to have a steady supply, so we plant some every week.”

Meanwhile, the Carpenters’ 24-year-old son, Mark, harvests fennel with a lettuce knife, prying the bulbs from the earth with the end, and slicing off the roots with the side. He strips off the pithy outer layers, and bunches two or three stalks together with a twist-tie.

“Picking fennel is a piece of cake,” says Mark, who has a degree in history from UC Santa Barbara, but is considering farming as his career. “I love the smell.”

Tuesday, noon

When the lunch siren from the nearby Limoneira Ranch sounds, a chorus of coyotes echoes from the hills. Back at the tomato patch, Paul sets two young workers, Noe Ramirez and Pepe Fermin-Aguilar, to the task of pounding wooden stakes into the earth. Using a nino, a hollow metal tube sealed at the end, with two attached arms, they will pound down 1,800 stakes, one at a time, all by hand.

“If we had a huge farm we’d get a hydraulic pounder, but since it’s only a few acres, we do it manually,” says Paul.

But while the Carpenters may not be able to enjoy the same benefits of scale as bigger farmers, they are able to realize higher prices for their vegetables by selling at farmers markets. “I’m too small to grow vegetables commercially [for shipping],” Paul says. “Our costs are too high. The only way we can compete is by selling directly to the consumer.”

While carrots are selling for 20 cents a pound at the Los Angeles Terminal Market, the hub for Southern California’s wholesale produce sales, the Carpenters will get more than a dollar a pound.

Tuesday, 4 p.m.

As the afternoon wanes, Paul heaves 60 plastic bins of vegetables, each weighing about 35 pounds, onto the flatbed and drives over to a hose near the asparagus patch. He sprays the vegetables, still in the bins, to keep them moist and wash off dirt.

The water stirs a symphony of aromas, mixing the sweetness of carrot tops, the licorice of fennel, the clean brightness of parsley and the funkiness of fava beans. Squash and zucchinis glisten, and even the lettuce seems to preen.

Spying a snail in a head of romaine, Paul flicks it away with his finger. “That’s our organic certification right there.” Mark loads the bins, still dripping, on the market truck, which is much nicer than the farm truck and has an enclosed area for the vegetables. “Let’s do it,” says Paul, and they head home, where Maryann has spent hours taking phone orders from chefs.

Wednesday, 5 a.m.

As Maryann drives the market truck in the dark along the Pacific Coast Highway, the moon is glimmering off the ocean. She doesn’t seem to notice. She’s got customers on her mind. “I’m oversold on gold and white beets and baby artichokes,” she worries.

“Most chefs are good sports when I have to short them. They can usually get it from somebody else. But a few complain and take it personally.” Her rule is, first ordered, first served.

This month, she expects sales to be a third lower than during the peak months. But that’s nothing compared with when they had to change farms last year. “We had to start from scratch,” she says. “For two months we didn’t have much of anything except tomatoes. It was even worse a few years ago, when we had a freeze and had to pull out of markets completely for six weeks.”

Such gaps are typical of the challenges facing small growers, she says, adding that less scrupulous market vendors supplement their crops with items bought from neighbors or wholesale markets.

Moreover, some say the recent proliferation of farmers markets--there are now 150 in Southern California, up 10 from last year--has stretched growers thin and diminished sales at existing markets. The Wednesday Santa Monica market is one of the largest and most successful in the nation--farmers there each take in $900 a day on average, much higher than at typical markets--but on rainy days, some vendors barely make gas money.

Wednesday, 6:15 a.m.

Maryann pulls into her spot at the northern end of the market on Second Street. She is the second of 90 trucks to arrive. Son Mark and two employees, Aki Tamai and Arthur Logan, are already there waiting and immediately start to work unloading. Maryann hands out lists of the day’s orders from restaurants, 21 in total, and the team rushes to assemble the items for each order before the chefs arrive.

For Mark Peel of Campanile, Tamai puts together a box with 5 pounds of baby fennel, five bunches each of orange, yellow and red carrots, eight bunches each of red and green chard and 20 pounds of favas, along with a case of red romaine.

As Maryann bags and portions out the favas, she discovers that she has 8 pounds fewer than she thought. “Oh boy, I’m going to have to short somebody,” she frets. The 340 pounds of favas she has have all been promised to restaurants. They will be sold out before the market opens to the public.

Wednesday, 8 a.m.

As the market prepares to open, Second Street closes to traffic and Mark fits together the metal poles to support the canopy, a gray canvas tarp that shields the vegetables from the sun. Then he and Logan set up the tables and carefully arrange the produce display. This is the calm before the storm; in less than an hour this quiet early-morning street scene will have turned into a packed bazaar.

About half of the Carpenters’ sales at this market go to restaurants, a higher portion than for most other farmers. Maryann is a foodie, and she coddles chefs. The Carpenters are constantly refining their offerings--like a sports team honing its roster--striving to grow new items that will intrigue restaurant buyers.

On this day, for instance, she shows little Crystal Wax onions from a trial planting to Terri Buzzard, a chef at the Getty Center restaurant who is always looking for hot new items.

“They’re so fresh and pretty,” says Buzzard. “I think I’ll braise them in white wine with chicken stock.”

Catering to the pros is good not only for the short-term immediate sale, but in the long term as well. Often new items catch on first with chefs, who help popularize them with their customers. “I couldn’t sell yellow carrots at first,” says Maryann, “but now they’re so popular many people come specially for them.”

Wednesday, 9 a.m.

An air horn’s blare announces that the market is open for business, and waiting customers throng the stand. There’s a mini-frenzy over an unusual item: artichokes flowers, over-mature artichokes that have opened to reveal deep purple thistles. “What are these?” asks an older woman, a regular customer, while a mother with a stroller wants to know how they’re cooked. Maryann explains that they’re simply ornamental.

A bit later, Maryann tells a young man with a nose ring how to roast beets. Several customers ask if the yellow carrots are really parsnips, while others exclaim at the freshness and beauty of the lettuces, such as Little Gem, a hybrid with the tenderness of butter lettuce and the flavor of romaine.

Meanwhile, chefs stop by Maryann’s “back office”--the rear of the stand--to pick up their orders and schmooze. Govind Armstrong, chef of Chadwick, needs more Orbits, unusual round carrots he marinates and uses in a salad with watercress and endive. He also wants more super-sweet Sugar Crisp yellow carrots, and he wants them small, so Maryann rummages through her supplies, meanwhile weighing purchases and taking money from customers.

Wednesday, 10:30 a.m.

The market runs until 2 p.m., but since the most devoted customers show up early to get the best selection, the action slows at the Coastal Organics stand. Mark arranges the vegetables that are still left into neat stacks.

Collin Crannell, sous-chef at Water Grill, stops by, and Maryann says nervously, “I have some bad news.”

“Say anything you want, but don’t breathe the word ‘favas,’” Crannell says, looking mock-fierce. He ordered 80 pounds, and she has only 72. But he’s OK with that, and Maryann looks relieved.

Wednesday, 1:15 p.m.

The display is down to raggedy ends, and customers are sparse. “OK, boys, lets pack it up,” Maryann says. She is exhausted from standing on the hard concrete for six hours, greeting customers and answering questions.

As Mark is sweeping up, William Coleman comes by and collects a big bag filled with carrot, beet and fennel tops for Pet Save, a group working with the Humane Society to feed 400 rabbits that were recently seized from the owner for neglect.

“I hate to throw anything away,” says Maryann, who is planning to use seven unsold fennel bulbs in her own soup for dinner that night. “My vegetables are almost like children to me. Farming is such a personal thing.”

Coastal Organics sells at these farmers markets: Santa Monica (Arizona Avenue between 2nd and 3rd streets), Wednesdays 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. and Saturdays 8:30 a.m. to 1 p.m.; Hollywood (Ivar Avenue between Sunset and Hollywood boulevards), Sundays 8:30 a.m. to 1 p.m.